Every Story Ends
by firechangeling
Summary: As he died in her arms, he made her promise to use what she was for good. So she did the only thing she could. Hunting. But what started as a search for twelve missing children turns into a game of cat and mouse and she isn't sure who she is. With the forces of heaven and hell trying to get her, she will take help wherever she can get it to survive. M-graphic violence/smut no slash
1. Prolouge

Prolouge

Rain fell in heavy drops as I cradled his broken body to my chest. My hands tried pointlessly to staunch the blood that flowed in torrents down his body, covering me. His breathing was raspy and weak. My tears mixed with rain on his face, and I poured all I had I had into his body, willing my energy and life force into him, but it wasn't enough. His hand lifted off of mine and searched weakly for my face, so I pulled it to touch my cheek. He looked at me as his thumb gently brushed my cheek, wiping a tear from under my eye, smearing his blood on my face. "Don't cry," he choked out. Blood spattered his lips. "Shh, don't talk," I whispered through my sobs. "It's ok. We'll be alright. You'll be fine." His lips twitched in a smile, "Don't lie please." I choked on another sob, but I nodded. He closed his eyes and for a moment, my heart fluttered in panic. Then his eyes fluttered open, "Be strong for me," I nodded. "Be happy." I nodded again. "Promise me," his voice faded. I clenched him more tightly, pouring what was left of my strength into him. His voice picked up again, "Promise me you will live. I can't ask you to not be angry, but try to let it go. Use what you are to help people. Prove them wrong. Be strong. Be good." His stare was so intense, I knew he wanted to hear me. He was holding onto the thread of life for my promise. I nodded, unable to speak past my sobs, but he gritted his teeth and gripped my face hard, "Promise me," he said fiercely. I swallowed hard and managed to whisper, "I promise." He nodded slightly and spoke again, voice dying as he did, "I love you little sister," he whispered for the first and last time. His last breath whispered past his lips, hand falling from my face and eyes glazing over, a smile ghosting his lips. "No, god no," I choked out, pleading to no one, rocking his limp form. "Michael, please…" I begged him. And I felt unconsciousness grasp at me, and my eyes slid shut as I slumped over his body. And amid the destruction of battle and the rage of the storm, my brother and I slept, but only one of us would wake to see the dawn.

†


	2. Chapter 1

Ch. 1  
I sank my six inch switch blade in all the way to the hilt, releasing it to sit in his chest. Blood spilled out over my hand, warm and slick. Pleasure and disgust coiled together in my belly as I stepped back to survey the demon chained in the chair before me. The creature screamed as my sacred blade ate away at his essence. "Now let me try this again," I said calmly. "Where are they?" The demon hissed out a laugh, "You are going to have to try harder than that bitch."

I nodded in agreement to him. With a sigh I said, "Yes, I suppose I do." I mimed twisting the blade with my empty hand, and the creature screamed again as the blade mirrored my motion. "What are you?" he panted, fear starting to cloud his eyes as they raked across my wings folded against my back. I raised an eyebrow, my eyes cold. "Good question," I replied, then willed the blade to twist again, sending another torrent of blood out from his body. after a moment, the demon stopped screaming, and panted with a wicked smile, "This tooth pick won't do shit." My eyebrow went up even higher. "Really?" I asked. He laughed like a mad man.

"How 'bout you and I cozy up and I'll tell you after," he suggested in a nasty tone. I shook my head, face still stone cold. "Believe me, between you and my dog, I'd take my dog." He laughed madly again. "I'm not gonna tell you shit, you little feathered whore. Just fucking kill me now. Crowley will kill me if I spill and you will kill me if I don't," he said, bravado clear in his voice. I nodded again, and then sent a questioning look in his direction, shifting my wings slightly. "Who said anything about killing you?"

His smile froze in place. I continued, "See, I have no plan to kill you." Hope seemed to kindle in his eyes for a moment, coupled with confusion, "What do you mean?" I stepped back up to him as he sat chained in the middle of the room and yanked my switch blade out from his chest. He moaned as more blood spilled out his chest, some of it splashing onto me. I felt another shiver of pleasure and disgust.

I turned away to lean against the wall, rearranging my feathers so I was comfortable, studying him as I waited for him to quiet down before I continued, "I don't plan on killing you. I am going to rip your essence to ribbons piece by piece, and then I will partially exercise you, so that you can't inhabit this body anymore, after which I will use a spell I discovered to lock you into a solid iron box, coated in salt, lined with binding sigils. I will then bury said box in a devil's cage that I created. It is unbreakable, except by me, so no rescue from your friends either. I will then do another ritual to ensure that your essence doesn't fade away, so that you live forever while being slowly dissolved. So no, I won't be killing you. As a matter of fact, I am giving you eternal life."

His face had slowly gone from confusion to horror. "You can't do that," he tried to challenge. Any bite in his words was gone and his voice was unsteady. I just looked at him, watching the veins in his forehead slowly begin to pulse as his fear grew. He panted harder and harder. I walked back up to him, and sat down straddling him, flaring my wings out and wrapping them all the way around his body so we were cocooned in their shadow. He looked surprised, and a sick smile stretched across his face, trying to hide his fear, but I could feel his muscles shaking under me in panic. I brought my knife blade up to brush his cheek, leaving a streak of his blood on his face. He pulled away from it.

I leaned in close, licking his chin and he shivered, from both lust and fear I assumed. I whispered in his ear, "Now how 'bout you start talking before I carve your eye out?" He yanked his head away from mine. I could smell his fear now. Another bolt of excitement and horror flashed through me. I leaned back slightly and pressed the tip of my knife to the corner of his eye. "Talk," I commanded. "Where are they?"

The demon was attempting to keep the knife point in his vision and so was staring out the corner of his eye, and didn't answer me. So I said, "Ok then," With precision bred of practice, I sank the point into his socket cutting through the skin of his lid as I did so. He screamed and bucked. In doing so, he drove his eye into the point. I felt my blade sink into the softness of the side of his eyeball. He rolled his eyes in agony, trying to close them. It just made it worse. But his twitching was making it hard for me to cut where I wanted to, so I quickly sat back all the way, leaving my knife embedded in his eye, leaking blood.

I place my palm to his forehead, pushing my will onto him, and said, "Still." He froze. I could see him mentally straining against the invisible bonds I put on his body. Now that he was still, I again took the knife and with surgical care, proceeded to outline his eye socket with it, cutting through his lid. His eyes dilated in pain but he could do nothing more than pant.

When I finished with the upper lid, I pulled it off by its lashes. Blood and optic juice covered it. I studied it with little interest. "Funny how something as insignificant as a patch of skin can hurt so bad," I said out loud. Naturally he didn't answer me. Blood was running out of the cut skin and onto his eye, along with sweat, while tears he could no longer blink away ran down his cheek. I looked him in hos lidless eye, feeling his whole body twitch with the strain and the pain. Again pleasure and pain butterflied in my stomach. I brought my knife forward again, and ever so gently, slid it between his eye and his skull until it grated on the bone at the back of his eye socket. Blood poured out and his body gave another massive shudder.

I pulled the knife back out, studying the grove it left on his eyeball. Optic juice and blood flowed over his pupil and iris. I sighed. "You know," I said, sitting back to look at his whole face, "the problem with this," I held up my knife "is that it doesn't flex. It only cuts. But hey, God gave us fingers for a reason." I saw horror bulge his eyes even through the pain. I leaned back in, running my hand up his side, throat, then stopping fingers a hair's breath away from his eye. I savored his fear for a moment longer, then gently dug my finger tip into the gap my knife had made. A long breath of air was the only sign of his screaming. I felt my finger slide over his eye, smoother than a meat ball but just as soft. I felt his nerves at the back of his eye socket, hooked my finger around them and yanked forward. Blood sprayed all over my face, into my eyes and my mouth.

The bitter sweet taste of the blood in my mouth coupled with his moans pushed me over the edge. I could feel myself begin to change. My blood thirst swelled up in my chest like a wave. His frozen body was shaking under me and all I wanted to do was rip him apart. Spill more of his blood. I fought it down, trying to keep my head. I leaned back out looking at his one good I and I said quietly, "You are going to tell me everything I want to know and more. Do you understand?" I waited, knowing he couldn't give me any acknowledgement at all. I continued, "If you don't I will teach you exactly how far I can go. You don't know the meaning of pain, not yet." I waited again, letting my words carry all their weight. Then brushing the tip of my bloody finger across hos forehead, I said, "Talk." He gasped in, his vocal chords being able to move again. I repeated myself for the final time, "Where are they?"

†

I stood up, folding in my blood soaked wings, muscles sore. His body was limp, broken and wet with blood. I took a few steps back. I felt bile rising in my throat as I looked on what I had done. The smell, which had, while I had been working, smelled so sweet and intoxicating, smelled of death and evil now. Finally, I couldn't control my body any longer. I felt what little I had eaten that morning shove its way out my mouth. I bent over, bracing myself against the wall. Sharp pain in my abdomen caused me to clench my stomach as I heaved. The meager contents of my stomach were soon strewn all over the floor and my feet, but I kept heaving. My vision tunneled then went black, and there was a horrible ringing in my ears.

When I was able to coherently observe my surroundings again, I felt a pair of cold hands clutching my under my armpits, keeping me upright. I took a deep breath, feeling the stale filthy air rake my raw throat. I spat out a glob of blood, feeling the wet stickiness of my own blood mix with that of the dead man's. I sighed and a low, welcome voice said behind me, "Kid, what's wrong? Take it easy." I whimpered slightly at the pain that laced through my abdomen, chest and throat. I stepped back, swaying slightly. The cold, strong hands gently kept me upright.

I shrugged the hands off and stepped forward to disengage myself from them. I looked tiredly over at the corpse, slumped over in the chair he was bound into. There was hardly anything left to call a man. Both his eyes were gouged out of his head, one lying very near my feet. A perfect sphere, nerves trailing out behind it in a sick imitation of a shooting star. Pieces of flesh that I had slowly ripped off, layer by layer, lay strewn around the floor in pools of blood and puss. His face was so disfigured by cuts and by blood that he was unrecognizable. His chest was ripped open, ribs sticking out at odd angles, white contrasting to the deep red of the surrounding flesh. His intestines were spilled out on his lap. His heart was laying by the door. Finger and toe nails were scattered across the floor, with their corresponding digits in a pile at the feet of the cadaver. His genitals hung by fleshy strings from their severed sacks, his member opened like a butterfly. Blood flowed like rivers down his slashed arms and legs. Chunks of hair and accompanying flesh were stuck to the walls around the room. His bones showed through the many lacerations I had made. Most of his blood had flowed into the engraved devil's trap in the floor.

I sighed again, disgust and horror filling me up. I could feel my stomach begin to clench again, so I turned away to face my company. A young man stood there with cool hazel eyes, looking down on me with concern. His red hair was unkempt and there was the hinting of auburn stubble along his jaw and upper lip. I smiled weakly at him, the horrid taste of bile still fresh in my mouth. "Hey," I said hoarsely. He nodded back. "What happened?" he asked concern clear in his voice. I waved my hand vaguely, "I guess I can't take the sight of blood the way I used to." He stepped up to me, eyes studying my face, "Kid, this is more than just not handling blood. Are you sure you are alright?"

I looked back into his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," I insisted. He continued to study for a moment longer, then sighed. "Go get yourself cleaned up." I hesitated, shooting another appalled glace around the room. "Let me clean this up first," I said, starting to turn away. He grabbed my shoulder with an ice cold hand. "I'll take care of it," he said quietly, and then his lips pulled up into a half hearted smile. "Being a demon does have its perks on occasion." I flinched ever so slightly, as I always did when he reminded me. I nodded, head drooping from exhaustion. "I have an appointment with the coroner in an hour," I reminded him. "Are you sure you want to go? You can always say that you got food poisoning or something." I couldn't meet his intense stare, deciding to look at the chunks of brown, gray bile on the floor instead. "Yeah, no I'm good. I'll go," I said.

He moved out of my way, and I stepped forward. My clothes were soaked through with blood, puss and intestinal fluid from both the corpse and myself. I was cold, the mix of liquids leeching the heat from my body. I passed into the hallway, leaning against the wall for momentary relief, which I immediately regretted. I straightened, but the large smear of blood tracing the contour of my shoulder and wing on the fading paint was already there. I sighed again and made my way to the shower. I shut the door and wearily picked stripped off the blood stained clothing, until I was standing naked in front of the mirror.

Blood had soaked through the fabric of my clothes and was now smeared all over my body. I stood studying myself in the mirror for a moment. My eyes were bruised and sunken in from lack of sleep. My ribs were beginning to stand out. My hip bones were very clear. Even my breasts were puckered and slightly purple, bruised and tender. My black and copper wings were missing feathers and sat limply against my back, covered in slick blood and pieces of skin. I gave myself a small smirk in the mirror. I realized how pathetic I looked. I ran my eyes up and down my figure again. Now my eyes focused on the myriad of scars that ran like lacework over my body, intertwined with the tattoos that stretched from my heel to my forehead.

I ran a bloody finger over a swirl on my abdomen. I had had these tattoos my whole life and still couldn't figure out what they looked like. The swirls and patterns seemed to constantly shift, sometimes looking like waves, sometimes like running horses. But today, they were nothing. I saw no pictures, no artistry, just cold chaos. I dropped my hand and turned away from the dead creature in the mirror, turning on the shower. I stood shivering, waiting for the hot water to travel through the old pipes. I felt a bead of blood drip off my long, red hair and roll down my back between my wing joints, intersecting the black of my tattoos with red. Finally, steam started to rise above the showerhead and I stepped in, hissing slightly as the hot water stung my skin. I quickly adjusted the temperature, the just stood in the water, watching blood run off my body and down the drain, carrying away any witness of what I had just done. I wished with all my heart that it could carry away the guilt as well.


	3. Chapter 2

I stood, letting the water run its course, feeling it flow through my hair and feathers, cleaning. Purifiying. I looked down at the blood again as it swirled down the drain. It reminded me of blood on a rainy battlefield. Pressure built up in my head, and a ringing filled my ears. _You have to run now! Go! Before they get here!_ I caught myself against the wall of the shower, my whole body tight. My hoarse breath rasped as I panted. My brother's voice echoed around my head. The ringing in my ears faded back to the calm sound of the water shooting out the showerhead.

I shot a fearful look around, grateful for the privacy of the bathroom. I shook my head to clear it, but the head ache persisted. Trying to distract myself, I grabbed the bar of soap and the washcloth and scrubbed vigorously. I started at my feet, then up my legs, my crotch, my stomach, under my arms. Then I rubbed the bar over my face and used a sponge to get the filth off my face, trying to forget. The steam felt good in my abused throat, but my stomach still sat uneasily. I picked up the cheap shampoo and poured it in my hand then rubbed it through my bloody hair, then rinsed it out. I grabbed the bottle again and poured some more shampoo into my hand then stretched out my wing.

I ran my hand carefully over the top edge of it, feeling the razor sharp skin that edged it from base to tip. Then I carefully washed each feather, getting the blood and other foul things off. As my fingers ran along the shaft of each feather I felt the poisonous barbs catch on my skin, injecting a paralytic neurotoxin into my skin through the tiny spikes. I was immune to the quick poison, which could stop a heart in ten minutes if a person received a large dose. Once my wings were clean, having struggled slightly to get the feathers on my back, I just stood in the stream of water, letting the hot droplets beat into my chest, stinging my collarbone and breasts, concentrating on the sensation, trying to ignore my headache. Finally, I felt the water begin to cool off and I grudgingly shut off the shower. I stepped out dripping, and grabbed the worn towel off the sink counter.

Carefully I lifted my wing tips off my back and slid the towel up to sit under my wing joints. I rubbed it back and forth, feeling the feathers that trailed down my skin ruffle under the fabric. My head hurt, pounding to my heart beat. I made my way back to the mirror, surveying myself again. My wet hair was pulled back away from my face, and my wings glistened with water, clean of filth. Now I just looked tired, not crazed. I reached up and lifted my top lip with my finger. My teeth, which had sharpened during my session with the demon, had rounded back out. I glanced at my nail, glad that it was no longer pointed and sharp. Sighing, I remembered my appointment with the coroner. He wouldn't take kindly to anyone with wings.

I stared at my wings through my reflection and willed them to molt. Slowly, one by one, the feathers fell, crumbling into ash when they made contact with anything. I stared at the mirror, seeing the small spots of blood that welled up from the pores where the quills had stuck into the flesh of the wing beneath. The now bare appendages were covered in a fine layer of ash and dripping small droplets of blood. I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the pain of the next step.

I focused through my pounding headache, and willed wings in, feeling the shot of hormones that triggered the transformation race though my veins. I gritted my teeth as my wings dislocated from their sockets on my shoulder blades, the fire of pain racing up into my head. The muscles along my wings' edges tightened, pushing the bones down over my ribs and muscles, towards my spine, stretching the skin as the head of the bone moved down my back. I bit my lip to keep the moan of agony in my throat from slipping out.

I watched as the two foot long bone slid out of the fleshy wing like toothpaste from a tube. I clutched the sink to keep from falling over. I could feel my skin stretching to breaking point as the joint of bone slid under the tight skin of my lower back, bumping and rubbing my vertebra from the two wing bones sliding down on either side of my back to form a 'V', pressing against my ribs and stretching the skin. I gasped, digging my fingers into the sink top, using what little will wasn't directed at transforming to keep from screaming. There was a momentary relief as my wing bones reached the bottom of my back and stopped moving, having nowhere left to go, making two bulges that rested above my tail bone.

The full weight of the great flaps of skin, muscle, cartilage, and the remaining pieces of bone was now dragging on my shoulders and neck. I blinked away the sweat that had formed on my brow, and focused again, willing my body to release the second chemical into my blood stream. My headache intensified, and fear shot through me as the idea that I might not be able to complete the transformation crossed my mind. Thankfully, moments later I felt the shaking travel down my body as the second hormone took effect. I let out a sigh of relief. I felt the pressure against the underside of my skin lessen as the chemicals my body released softened the bones of my wings, until the bulges disappeared against my back and the remaining wing bones became soft and flexible.

I rolled my neck, muscles sore from resisting the weight of both my wings. I took another deep breath, wiping my face with a shaking hand. My heart was pounding, spreading the third and slowest hormone through my body and I waited for it to take effect. Finally I could feel the muscles in my calves, thighs, back, shoulders, and triceps tightened slowly until my whole body was in agony. Then the tightness spread up my wing muscles and they pulled in, muscle fibers sliding past one another as my body pulled the remaining bone, muscle, and cartilage in. Now my wings were nothing more than empty flaps of skin hanging off my body, looking like limp bat wings. Then the final chemical entered my bloodstream.

The skin on my stomach started to pull tight, followed by the skin on my legs, feet, hands and arms. The chemical dried out my skin and I watched as the skin from my wings was slowly pulled in, spreading around my body. My whole form shifted. I watched the progress of a mole in my shoulder as it slowly moved down my chest until it was hidden beneath my towel. My breasts, which had previously been pressed tight against my chest, rounded out under the fabric of my towel, sinking slightly with the new weight of skin. The process was itchy and uncomfortable as my nerve endings and muscle fibers severed and shifted. Finally, my skin stopped moving and I stood panting and covered in sweat.

I moaned quietly at the soreness. I hated having to clip my wings. I felt tight and uncomfortable and my back ached. I continued to stare at myself in the mirror, studying and trying to see something more than the monster I had become since the battle, but I couldn't. My tattoos, which I bore with pride, faded away under the influence of the fourth chemical in my blood stream, leaving my scarred skin stretched palely across my form. My hazel eyes looked dead; the luster of my red copper hair was gone. I looked lifeless. Staring at my eyes in the mirror, I felt the pressure build up behind my eyes, the ringing in my ears returning. I shut my eyes, trying to stay in the present, but I couldn't.

"_I don't care. Go, just go! I promised you I would be there for you, kid. Now I am, and you need to go." In the distance, footsteps sounded their approach. There must have been dozens of them. "I am not leaving you here alone!" Hazel eyes smiled back at me, "Kid, you never do." _

I regained awareness of my surroundings when a hand pounded on the stained wooded door, accompanied by a voice, "You need to get moving. Your meeting with the coroner is in twenty minutes and it's a ten minute drive." I was collapsed on the floor, my limps splayed painfully. I quickly scrambled to my feet, struggling to find my voice as I did so. "Be right out," I rasped, wincing as I remembered throwing up earlier. I heard the floor boards creak under his weight outside the door. "You sure you are alright?" I closed my eyes, grateful he hadn't seen me during my latest episode. "Yeah," I rasped. "I'm good."I heard the floorboards creak down the hallway as he walked away. I sighed and looked at myself again in the mirror. Death stared back.

I turned away and arranged the towel to fit more snuggly around my aching body, then quietly opened the door to the bathroom. The temperature difference between the air in the hall and the humid steam of the bathroom caused me to shiver. I winced as my already tight body reacted to the cold air. I flipped off the light in the bathroom then made my way, dripping down the hall to my room.

I shut the door behind me and let the towel drop to the floor. I shivered again, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, gasping at the sensitive skin. As I tried to warm up my arms, I padded my over to the small dresser, pulling out a pair of underwear and a bra. I stepped into the undergarment pulling them up to my waist, gritting my teeth as the fabric rubbed against my legs. I then quickly slid my bra into place, groaning as I reached back to clip it shut. My arms swung forward and I breathed a sigh of relief. I grabbed the brush that was sitting on the dresser top and ran it through my hair. Water dripped off the ends on to the floor. I grabbed the towel I had dropped onto the floor, groaning as my back muscles stretched out. I quickly dried my hair then dropped the towel again. I ran the brush through my hair one more time before twisting it quickly into a tight knot on my head, securing it in place with a rubber band from the brush handle.

I moved to my small closet, eyes scanning the clothing inside until they landed on a pair of black slacks. I grabbed the fabric and pulled, slipping the waistline from the hanger. I grumbled mentally at the tightness on my chest as my bra shifted with the reach. I unbuttoned the slacks and stepped into them, feeling the linen and polyester fabric scrape against my legs. I buttoned the waist, zipped them up and stuck my hands in the pockets to flatten them out. The cool fabric felt soothing but scratched against my skin.

I looked back at my clothes as I pulled my hands out of my pockets, looking for my white collared button up. Finding it, I pulled it off its hanger, accompanied by another grumble, and slipped my arms into the polyester sleeves. My skin tingled painfully at as the fabric settled. I quickly buttoned up the shirt and pulled my black blazer off its hanger. Draping the jacket over my arm, I pulled out my high heeled sandals and slipped my feet into them, not bothering with nylons. I heard his voice call from down the hall, "We need to get going!" I rolled my eyes, then grabbed the brief case that sat waiting by the door, and opened the door, making my way down the hall, pain lacing through my legs and body with every step.

†

I shifted in my heels, trying to inconspicuously to dispel my discomfort. "How long have you had the body?" I asked. The coroner, a middle aged Indian man with wispy hair, glanced at the file he was holding. "Five days," he said. I nodded, expecting a time of death around that long. I took another cursory glance at the mutilated figure laying in pieces on the tray before me. My stomach gave an unpleasant twitch, and the thought that this body looked very similar to the demon's after I had finished with him crossed my mind. I suppressed a shiver at the idea, not sure if it was from disgust or pleasure. The man glanced at me.

"A horrid sight, no? Tell me, why did Wildlife Services send you, and not someone who is used to attacks like these? I mean no offense," he amended quickly, voice soft and apologetic. I nodded in acknowledgement of his apology and quickly explained, "I have seen a few bad attacks before, but I have never been out in the field to see the actual…" I trailed off, motioning with my hand. He nodded his understanding. Then he heaved a sigh, causing his shoulders to rise and fall sharply. "Personally," he said after a moment, "I have never seen a grizzle attack this bad. Although they have been sighted more frequently in recent years, I have never known a bear to come this far down from the mountains. It's not natural." I nodded, knowing that he did not understand the accuracy of his words.

I allowed myself one more survey of the corpse, committing to memory every gash and mark, every missing chunk of flesh, every torn piece of skin, then I glanced with a small smile back up at the coroner, "Well, shall we take a gander at your other resident guests?" He snorted lightly at my dark humor, and then nodded. "If you would like to meet Miss Shea Dobalian, victim number two," he slid the tray back into the fridge and stepped forward a few steps to pull out another tray. "Age 27, mauled forty five minutes from the Canyon trail head at the north end of The Peaks National Park. Missing a substantial part of her abdomen, found by two hikers who were coming down from the mountains on that same trail. Said they only noticed anything because of the foul stink." He glanced at his paperwork again, "They said, and I quote 'Smelled like burnt barbeque, wet dog, and manure.'"

He looked back at me, his graying brows pulling together in his puzzlement. "I have never heard anything like it," he commented, then closed up the file, tucking it under his arm to open another fridge, marked 37. A foul odor wafted out from under the plastic covering as he rolled out the tray. "Prepare yourself," he said somewhat kindly. He reached up and pulled the plastic back to reveal a lump of flesh. I stared at it for several moments before realizing that I was looking at what used to be a face. The entire right side of the fleshy sphere was crushed in, bone fragments littered about in a red soup. What used to be an eyeball was a gooey jelly, the brown of once warm eyes only barely discernible. The skin was ripped and shredded, rotting into black, causing bubble to form as it decomposed.

I stared at it for a moment, my stomach trying to decide whether it had seen enough. Through sheer strength of will, I pushed down my disgust, and again committed the heinous sight to memory. "When did this victim die?" I shoot across the mutilated corpse. The coroner didn't even bother to check his notes this time. "Four days," he replied mournfully. Catching his tone, I asked gently, "Did you know her?" He nodded sadly; face crumpling out of its composed mask. I waited for him to find his voice, which took a moment, and then he managed to choke out, "She was my niece." I could tell he was bordering a breakdown, and I couldn't help but think how cruel that he was assigned to examine this body. I moved around the tray, raising my hand to lay it gently on his shoulder, saying, "You know, I am sure you have quite a bit of paperwork. I can show myself out." He looked up at me, his warm brown eyes, so much like the remnants of his niece's, clouded over with grief and he gave me a small, grateful smile. "Thank you agent," he said in a small, but steady voice. "I will leave the rest of the files here for you, and feel free to examine the others." I nodded, then again moved by pity, slid my hand into my bag, found my wallet, and found a twenty. I pulled out the bill and offered it to him. He looked at it confused. "Have a drink on me," I said, remembering my tackless words about 'resident guests.' "Have a good one on me in Shea's memory."

He blinked at my thoughtfulness, and then slowly reached out to take the twenty from my outstretched hand. "Very kind of you," he said, the steadiness of his voice slowly vanishing. I nodded again and turned back to the corpse, quickly pulling the plastic back over the would-be head, then I quickly slid the tray back into the fridge, swinging the door shut with a click. I turned away from the coroner, giving him the semblance of privacy as he quickly wiped his eyes on the back of his hand with a sniff. Then he cleared his throat sharply. "Agent," he said, voice returning to its pervious professionalism. I turned to see him offer me his hand. I reached out and shook it, feeling his hand trembling ever so slightly. The contact sent tiny flames of discomfort up my wrist, and I suppressed my wince with difficulty. "Doctor," I replied with a nod, dropping his hand quickly.

I watched as he turned away, waiting until the door swung shut behind him and he disappeared up the hallway before turning back to the fridge doors. I shifted, slouching first to one side then the other, trying to wiggle some comfort into my tight skin. Unsuccessful, I sighed, feeling my skin shift as I did, then redirected my mind. I quickly moved to the next body, a John Doe, who was so jig sawed that he was unidentifiable. Similar markings to the first two victims adorned what little was left of him, and his skin decayed blackly as with the other two. This victim was only three days dead. I focused and committed this body to memory as well. I quickly surveyed the other two corpses, both showing the same ragged clawing and very premature decaying.

After I had slid the last victim back into their fridge compartment, I pulled off the latex gloves. I actually sighed as the rubbing abrasion of the talcum powder was suddenly and mercifully removed from my skin. Unable to resist, I quickly brushed the white powder off my hands on my black slacks, leaving ghostly handprints on the fabric and a slight burning on the skin beneath. I studied the marks for a moment, trying to decide whether it was worth the pain to try and get the marks off. I decided that it wasn't and promptly put the handprints aside. I reached for the file that the coroner had left on the table, giving another mental grumble at the discomfort of having my wings clipped. I opened the file and flipped through it, allowing each of the pages to sear itself onto my mind, until I had the whole file safely stored away in my memory. Then, I shut my eyes, trying to block the world out for a moment.

The details of this case were familiar. I recalled having read something many years before where hikers were mysteriously dying from phantom bear attacks. Their bodies were equally as mutilated, with the unnatural decaying around the claw and teeth marks. The bear had never been seen or caught during or after the incident. There were ten victims, one a day, then the attacks had suddenly stopped. I quickly went through all the research I had done for that case, running through all the information I had read then and stored away in the recesses of my head. It took only a moment before the I finally dredged up the perpetrator of the alleged bear attacks. The creature had many names. Cat Sith among the Irish. A displacer beast in more recent mythology. A shadow cat.


	4. Chapter 3

I made my way back out into the sunlight outside the morgue. I winced as the heat sent ten thousand tiny pinpricks of pain into my already uncomfortable skin. I pushed my sunglasses farther up my nose, squinting my eyes at the pain of the glasses pinching the bridge of my nose and the sun tightening my pupils. I hated the sun, as necessary as it was to life. I preferred the cooler, gentler light of the moon to the harsh scorching heat of the earth's neighboring star. I shook my head to clear it of my musings, grimacing against the unpleasant feeling that the quick movement caused.

I glanced up and down the street. Such a quaint little town, settle on the edge of one of the most infamous national parks, The Peaks. A small mountain range, covered in massive, gnarled fir trees created an imposing boundary on three sides of the insignificant town. The thick bracken of the underbrush had been cleared away from the edge of the town three miles out into the forest, and game paths wound their way through the clear wood, and some hikers enjoyed frequenting the winding trails. But higher up the mountains, woods became dark and ominous as the fir trees grew closer to their neighbors, rubbing branches with the slimmer pine, while both were overshadowed by the massive redwoods. Wrapped around the dark bark, poisonous vines of ivy and nettles crept up to form a lower canopy that all but blocked out any sun that dare shine between the high summits of the Peaks.

Down in the town, the typical close atmosphere that came with multiple generations living in the same place pervaded everything. The street I was standing on was the main street in and out of the town. Being only road that led out of the pincer-like protrusion of The Peaks, it held the main attractions of the town. The worn down theater across from the morgue boasted the newest shows in cinema, showing titles that were several years old. The bowling alley down a ways was adjacent to the bar, which claimed to have the best lager in the state. Other, once colorful store fronts line the cracked pavement road.

I turned right and, each of my steps accompanied by both pain and pounding in my head, followed the road towards its end, where it turned into a massive roundabout, in which sat a park with a structure. Who made the decision to put a kid's playground in the middle of the most heavily traveled street in the city, I didn't know, but the lack of forethought seemed to coincide well with the dingy atmosphere that soaked into everything around this town. The park was probably the most active place to be during the day, as it was the ending of the hiking season, but the small high school and adjoining grade school had not yet opened up for the start of the year. When tourist season picked up, the small motels and inns that seemed to line the road into town were packed full of daring explorers who all wanted a chance to taste the great mystery that made The Peaks the famous range that they are. I couldn't help but wonder why people would go out of their way to seek danger, when it occurred to me that I was very much one of the guiltiest in that department.

With a slight smile on my face at the thought, I was momentarily distracted from my pain, until a young child, no older than five, dashed headlong into my legs. Only my ingrained habit of silence kept me from screaming, for it had felt like the child was made of molten metal. She looked up at me surprised, and promptly began crying loudly, drawing the stares of numerous eyes around the park. I tried to soothe her with quiet assurances that it was alright as the woman I guessed was her mother hurried up to the two of us. "Oh I am so sorry," the woman simpered. I shook my head. "No worries at all ma'am," I said with the wave of my hand. I looked her over once and bit my tongue to stop from laughing. This woman looked as if she had been pulled right out of a 50s house wife's magazine. The long dress with horrid floral pattern, hair up tight in a bun, a string of pearls adorning her thin neck. The daughter, who I now had a chance to look at in detail, was dressed in a similar fashion, with a frilly lace dress, bobby sock and white satin shoes, hair tied up in a cute pony tail. The woman bent down to quietly scold her daughter, and as she did, I noticed four scars along the back of her neck, pale and almost hidden by the collar of her dress. I only saw them for a moment before she stood and apologized again, quickly escorting her daughter away from me.

As I watched the mother and daughter leave, I noticed that a lot of people were still staring at me. I realized, during this time of year they must not be used to strangers, especially ones in suits. I sighed, then allowed my eyes to scan the area for anything unusual, simply out of habit. My eyes memorized everything they saw, processing the visual information before storing it away. Then, realizing that all I was doing was calling unnecessary attention to myself, I pulled out my phone. He picked up in two rings. "Sup?" he greeted me. I rolled my eyes, thinking it was obvious as to why I was calling. "There is really no need to roll your eyes at me," he remarked in a completely serious tone, "I was only being polite." I chuckled that he knew me well enough to hear me roll my eyes over the phone. "Alright, my apologies," I gave in, "could you come get me. I don't want to have to walk all the way back to our place." I could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, "Sure thing, kid. Be there in a few." I nodded, then remembered that I was, in fact, on the phone. "Thanks." "Yep."

I ended the call and slipped my phone back into the small purse I was carrying, glancing round as I did so. There were still a few pairs of curious and suspicious eyes watching me, so I decided to make myself uninteresting. I searched around my bag until I found my compact mirror. I pulled it out, and then went to sit on the closest bench to wait. I opened my compact and pretended to assess myself intently, all the while monitoring the pairs of eyes that watched me. Finally, I heard his voice ring out from the car, "You coming or what?" I stood quickly, growling quietly in my discomfort. I dashed to the car, ignoring the pain and the last of the curious eyes as I made my way around the front of the car and yanked open the door, throwing myself into the cool air conditioned interior of the car, sighing at the relief of the shade and the pain of having my skin pressed against something. I kicked my shows off and pulled my hair down out of a bun as the car made its way around the island, keeping the speed low in case of children.

When we finally pulled back onto straight road, heading both toward the exit of the valley and out rented cabin, he turned to me, "So?" he asked with raised eyebrows. I shook my head. "This town's got it bad." His face clouded with confusion. 'How do you mean?" he asked. "Did you not find anything about the kids?" I nodded. "Not only did I not find shit about the kids, there are five fucked up bodies in the morgue, and you will not guess what did it." He glanced from the road to meet my eyes, the unspoken question in his eye. I continued, "The have a fucking shadow cat roaming around." He took a sharp breath, turning to stare at me full in the face in astonishment. "Wait, you mean they have a shadow wolf _and_ something else?" I nodded. He shook his head,whistling quietly. I nodded again, this time in agreement with his unspoken sentiment. We were royally screwed.

The rest of the drive was quiet as we both considered the enormity of the task before us. Find out what had taken twelve local children from their homes, with no sign of forced entry, and hunt a shadow hound at the same time. This made all our other hunts seem like walks in the park, and considering both of us had ended up almost dead more than once, that was saying something. As the car pulled into the shadowed driveway and I stepped out onto the packed dirt, I couldn't help but glace over my shoulder at the ominous mountains, wondering what secrets were hidden beneath those ancient cliffs, and what price we might have to pay to uncover them.


	5. Chapter 4

I walked up the stepping stone path to the door, moving to the side to allow him to get to the door. He quickly pulled out the key and opened the door, stepping aside to allow me through first. I stepped over the threshold, and the rank smell of sulfur and cleaning agent greeted my nose. I wrinkled up my face in response to the smell, glancing over at him as he stepped through the door behind me. He raised an eyebrow, "What?" I frowned, "Nothing, just wondering how long it is going to take before I asphyxiate in here."

He shot me an irritated look, but didn't respond. I led the way through the front room to the kitchen, then into the back room, where a massive devil's trap had been carved into the floor. I wondered how he could have avoided getting stuck until I saw a piece of wood about six inches long jammed into the outer circle, allowing him to pass in and out without restriction. Any sign of the events of earlier in the day had been expunged from the room, save for the chair, draped in carved chains, in the center of the trap. Here the smell was strongest and I had to breathe through my mouth as I looked around the room, impressed in spite of myself. I heard him walk up behind me, and without glancing back, I asked, "How on earth did you manage this?" I heard the pride in his voice as he replied, "Ohh a little of this, a little of that." My lips pulled up into a smile. I stood a moment longer admiring his work, and then sighed. "What?" he asked.

I turned around to face him, my smile sliding off my face as I did so. He took in my expression and repeated his question. "What is it?" I shook my head, not wanting to tell him, but knowing I owed him the truth. But I decided I didn't owe it to him now. I said," Let's get food, I'm starving." His expression took on a concerned look. "No you tell me now, what is going on," he demanded. "You got sick this morning, which you have never done before. You aren't eating. I can here you screaming at night. I am watching you die in front of me and I don't know why. So we aren't going anywhere until you explain yourself." As he spoke, he blinked once, and his eyes turned black.

I took a step away from him, and immediately regretted it. He blinked again and his eyes returned to their normal hazel, and he looked truly hurt. I stepped forward, opening my mouth to apologize, but he held up his hand and shook his head. "Just don't," he said shortly and turned away, walking into the kitchen and out of sight. I swore under my breath, using my favorite words interspersed with adjectives to describe just how stupid I was. Realizing that talking to myself wouldn't help at all, I decided that the first thing I should do was clear the fumes from his cleaning session out of the house. I could feel the pressure behind my eyes mounting at the smells aggravated my already pounding head and my skin was still tingling painfully as the heavy chemical particles settled on me.

Seeing as there were no windows in this part of the house, I realized that the only way I was going to clear the air would be to use my powers. I hesitated, wondering if I was strong enough anymore. Taking a deep breath, feeling taste of sulfur and cleaning agent settle on my tongue, I closed my eyes and focused. My awareness slowly left the discomfort of my body as I willed my consciousness to expand outward. Slowly, I started to sense the air around me, feeling the movement and ebb and flow of the currents. I focus intensely, feeling the strain on my mind and my energy. Continuing to focus, I felt my awareness extend into the very particles around me. I pushed into the electron clouds of every atom around me, pushing energy into it, causing the air around me to heat up. I directed my conscience, causing an air current to pull through the house. Keeping my focus, I ensured that the heavy sulfur and cleaning agent particles were carried on the breeze. Suddenly, I could feel my energy disappear, and I realized too late that I had overextended my now meager strength. My consciousness snapped back to my body, and the sudden awareness of my body and the pain that came with it overwhelmed me and I felt myself blacking out.

†

_A young girl skipped next to a slightly older boy. They both had copper hair, pale, freckled skin and beautiful hazel eyes. They made their way down the dark street, seeming misplace in the shadows of the back street they were traversing. The boy, nine years old, had the look of someone who had seen too much, and his young face was lined from the weight he bore, despite his youth. But the girl, six years old, had an innocent smile on her face, and she seemed unaware of the darkness of her surroundings. _

_The two children made their way down the street. To any passerby they would have looked like they were on their way somewhere, when they were, in fact, very lost. But the young boy knew better than to ask for help. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his right hand fisted around the handle of a beautiful, six inch switch blade, ready to yank it out and flip it open at any second. Keeping his head forward, deep in the hood of his sweatshirt, he never stopped scanning his surrounding, taught with anticipation. Strange swirling marks glowed faintly across his face, like moonlike on copper. His dancing eyes also seemed to glow with a coppery light, but any passerby who saw the glow of his eyes and swirling marks could easily dismiss them as reflections of the streetlights that glowed dimly at either end of the street._

_Neither child saw the dark shadow trailing forty feet behind them. A bent over form, the shadow walked silently, with cold brown eyes watching the little girl's every move. Pale lips began to pull up in a smile. He felt his cock slowly harden as he allowed himself to consider what he was going to do to the little girl bouncing happily down the street. The shadow waited until the children had passed the last street lamp, leaving them in almost complete darkness, save for the faint starlight that shone through the smog layer of the city. He quickly made his move. Standing up straight from his previous hunched over position he quietly closed the distance between himself and the two children. Pulling a rock from his enormous overcoat, the man raised his hand to strike the young boy._

_But the boy seemed to sense the shadow behind him and turned just in time, so that the rock, instead of crushing his skull as intended, the rock glanced off his forehead. However the strength of the blow was enough to bring the young boy down. The boy collapsed, and the girl, only just seeming to realize something was wrong, looked at the man with wide eyes. He quickly brought the rock back up and down again, silencing the little girl just as she began to scream. She dropped like the rock that had hit her. The man, showing rotted, black teeth in a smile, bent and hefted the tiny body of the girl onto his shoulder and made his way towards his secret haunt. _

_He made his way towards the edge of town until he came to a condemned ballet studio. He slipped inside through passages only he knew. Entering the main room, his horrid face reflected all around him, he gently placed the girl to the ground and made his way to the storeroom. Purely from memory, he made his way through the forgotten costumes in the dark, looking for the perfect outfit for his new prima ballerina, finding a beautiful red dress from the theater costumes. Shimmering silk with one strap, the small dress had been a costume for the daughter of a countess, he remembered. That had been his first. His student. Now he was going to teach this young girl how to dance just as well as her. _

_He returned to the main ballet room, cradling the dress in his hands. Standing above the little girl, ha saw a small trickle of blood coming from her hairline. He felt himself get harder. Breathing in deeply to steady his urges, he bent down and set to work preparing his new prima ballerina. He pulled off the oversized sweatshirt, then her shoes and socks. His hands froze on the edge of her shirt when she stirred. But after a quiet whimper, she stilled and his hands returned to their work pulling off her shirt. Her young smooth chest gleamed palely in the faint light that filtered in from the cracked and dusty windows. Her body shivered against the cold and her tiny, flat nipples perked up into small points._

_The ache in the man's member grew stronger, and his hands quickened in their work. With guided practice, his hands found the zipper on her pants and made short work of getting them off of her. She lay on the floor in nothing but a pair of forest green underwear, goose flesh rising as her skin made continuing contact with the cold wood. He savored her small wiggle of discomfort but a flash of concern that she might wake crossed his mind. He gently scooped her upper body up off the floor and slipped the red dress on. As he pulled maneuvered the dress down past her waist, he slipped his fingers under the waist band of her underwear, pulling them off. _

_ The dress slid down quickly, but he was able to see her smooth waist and hairless crotch. His cock gave another twitch and he palmed it through his ragged pants, moaning quietly. He glanced at the now dry blood on her forehead. He palmed himself again, then reached out and shook her gently awake. She opened her eyes, taking in the ceiling and unfamiliar room. He watched puzzlement turn to fear on her face. This was his favorite part, watching them become afraid. She slid her hands down her sides, looking down in confusion at the dress she was now wearing. The red shoulder strap slipped down as she sat forward, and she looked around._

_ She went still as she saw him. He was still kneeling beside her. She didn't scream, or cry. She just stared at him. He grew frustrated. He wanted her to beg, plead, cry. So with one swift move, he hit her across the jaw. She tumbled to the side and he heard a thud as her forehead hit the floor. She never made a sound, but as she sat upright again, he could see the gash just above her hairline weeping blood. And finally the man could not restrain himself anymore. He reached out and grabbed her and yanked her forward, but to his astonishment and delight, she resisted. Her hands reached for his face, and claw like nails left four identical streaks of red across his cheek. He growled slightly at the pain, but enjoyed her wriggling. However, he began to notice, instead of sheer panic written across her face, he saw determination, and her struggles were methodical, directing her energy to loosen his grip on her instead of just trying to pull away._

_ But her struggles were no match for his strength, and after a minute she suddenly went still. She looked straight at him, and in her eyes, young though they were, he saw only contempt. "My brother is going to kill you," she murmured, voice confident. He scoffed, "Your brother is dead." And finally he saw the flicker of fear he wanted pass in her eyes, then they hardened again. "No he isn't. You are lying and you can't hurt me. Because if you do, he'll make you pay." He smiled. "Then I guess I'll have to see what he charges," he said with a broad smile. "Now you are going to dance for me." _

_ She looked at him like he was mentally handicapped. "No I won't," she said. He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "You are right," he agreed. "Making you dance would be a waste of your energy." With that he let her go, quickly undid his own pants and stood. She had landed sprawled on the floor when he had released he, but the sight of his bare bottom half had her scurrying backward, confusion clouding her eyes. He smiled even more broadly as her eyes glanced downward at his erection. "Don't know what this is, do ya?" he asked. Her eyes flicked back up to meet his. They were clouded in fear. He let out a laugh that echoed around the mirrored room. "Let me teach you," he said, and rushed the girl. _

_ A high pitched screech pierced the room as the girl tried to call for help. Then he was on top of her, pinning both her arms above her head with one of his own. With the other, he wrestled the dress up her thighs, then got his knees between her legs. He grabbed her waist, his large, filthy hand going halfway around her frail form. She tried to wriggle loose, but his grip was tight. He spread her legs open with his knees until he could see pink. Then with one strong thrust, he entered her. She froze, whole body clenching from the shock of the agonizing pain she was in. As her body clenched tight, the man moaned in pleasure, savoring the warmth and the tightness of her young body. He waited a few seconds, then yanked out. She screamed. He slammed back in with a growl of ecstasy. He released her hands to grab the back of her head, pulling her into a sitting position in his lap, and he liked the blood off her face before pulling out and slamming into her again. Her scream echoed off the walls, and he enjoyed every one of them. He looked up to see himself with his cock in a young girl from every side as the mirrors on the walls reflected his deeds back to him. He nodded acknowledgement to his reflection as the muscles in his body clenched. He could feel his climax coming, and he pumped harder, matching the girl scream for scream as her hole, now slick with hot blood, clenched even more tightly around his member. _

_ Suddenly, the man saw another reflection in the mirrors. A man in shadows was standing over him. He glanced up to see a quick flash of silver descending in a deadly arc. Then his severed head was rolling across the floor while blood spilled from the sever arteries in his neck. The stroke caused the rest of the body to react and as it fell sideways and slid out of the little girl, the body hit climax, sending come all over the floor and the girl's legs. She was screaming, but she had shredded her throat raw, so that the sound was almost silent. When she seemed to realize that the man's cock was no longer inside her, she curled up on her side, lying in a pool of blood and come. The body laid twitching and bleeding at her feet. The stranger took a step toward the girl, who hadn't noticed him up to now. When she noticed his movement, she screamed again, and crying scotched away from him, until her back hit the wall. She sat with her knees drawn up, shaking from fear and pain. He looked down at her, but she could not make out his face, only his eyes. They were a shade between green and hazel , not quite one or the other, and they looked on her with pity, but the man made no move to get any closer._

_ Then running steps echoed through the room, and the young boy, the side of his head matted with blood, came into view. He took one look at the little girl, turned with fury in his eyes, making them glow brightly with a coppery light toward the stranger. The swirls on his face brightened as well and suddenly a pattern of flame was visible in them. He took a step toward the stranger, who had not moved then seemed to see the whole of the situation. He saw a bloody machete in the stranger's hand and the headless corpse of the man lying in a pool of cooling blood. The boy's glowing eyes quickly scanned the room and he saw the head of the man laying a few yards away. Realizing that this man had helped, he immediately forgot about him and turned toward the little girl. She was staring up at him. He took a tentative step forward, and the girl cringed back. Agony flashed across the young boy's face. Then quietly he spoke gently words in a language that it seemed the girl could understand. After almost five minutes, the girl, still crying and whimpering in pain, choked out a reply in the same language. The boy took slow careful steps forward until he was next to her, then he squatted down, reaching out to hold her. As his frail arms wrapped around her shaking form, she collapse into him, clinging to his shirt on relief and pain. The stranger watched the interaction between them in silence. The boy continued to speak soothing words for a moment, head resting on the young girl's copper hair, before he looked up at the stranger. The glow in his eyes had faded away as had the swirling designs on his skin. In a strong, steady voice that shouldn't have belonged to a boy his age, he met the man's eye and said, "Thank you for saving my sister." _

_ Indecision flashed in the man's eyes as he considered the pair before him. He considered killing the two sitting before him, as it was clear that the boy at least, was not human, but something stopped him. A second's hesitation made up his mind and he sheathed his machete. He nodded back to the boy, before slowly squatting down in front of the pair. The girl curled up even more tightly, but the boy did not move. The stranger looked the boy straight in the eye and said in a low voice, "I know what you are." The boy blinked, but said nothing. "I kill things like you," the stranger went on. The boy blinked in response. "But as long as you don't hurt anyone human because of what you are, I will leave you be," the man boy did not react for several seconds before he replied. "I never want to hurt anyone, unless they hurt me first." The stranger nodded. "What's your name boy?" he asked. _

_ The little boy considered the stranger for a moment with hazel eyes. Then he spoke up, "Michael, my name is Michael." The stranger nodded then stood, stepping back, as the little girl let out another whimper of fear and pain. "You need to take her to a hospital Michael,," he said, then turned to walk away. As he came to the door, the stranger heard the boy call out from behind him, "Sir?" The stranger turned, eyebrows raised in question. "What's your name, sir?" the boy asked. The man smiled slightly and turned back around, calling over his shoulder as he vanished into the darkness, "John. John Winchester."_


End file.
